Walk With Me In Winter
by The Moonlily
Summary: A companion piece to "And Every Winter Change To Spring" told from Éomer's point of view.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Walk With Me In Winter (or _Things I Did Not Tell You At The Time_ )

 **Rating:** T

 **Pairings:** Éomer/Lothíriel

 **Genre:** Romance/Drama

 **Summary:** A companion piece to _And Every Winter Change To Spring._

 **Disclaimer:** The Lord of The Rings is the property of J. R. R. Tolkien and his estate. This is a work of fanfiction, written for the enjoyment of myself and others. No financial profit is made by writing this.

 **Author's Note:** See the end of chapter for details.

* * *

 _She's something new, something hopeful. Like spring to my deep winter._

 _\- Pierce Brown_

* * *

The first time I see you is in Mundburg.

I am weary from the war, I long for my home on the great green plains, and I have barely started to admit even to myself how scared I am of what waits for me back in the Mark. Often I wonder if there is something wrong with me, what with the way I can't seem to take joy in the ending of war like others do. Perhaps it's because I barely know what peace is. Now, after spending my adult life riding from one battle to next, I'm supposed to know how to lay down my sword and rebuild a kingdom.

At night, I can hardly sleep. I think about my sister and the bright future she has before her, the price I will have to pay when she goes, and the gut-wrenching fact that I have no idea of how I will mend that war-torn land I call my home.

And yet, _and yet,_ all of that falls away when I first set my eyes on you in the Citadel of Kings. You come with your father and brothers around you, laughing softly with them, your hand resting on the arm of Imrahil. I admit that I am curious: Éowyn has spoken well of you, praising the kindness and patience you showed her while she was in the Houses of Healing, and your brothers won't spare their loving words when they mention you. Brothers' pride and love I understand, but Éowyn's regard is harder to win. She tells me your name means _flower-garlanded maiden._

I hold my breath, though I do not know why.

You move closer and Amrothos is declaring something in a loud, boisterous voice. It makes all five of you laugh. Like the rest of your family, you wear blue and silver, and your dark hair is cascading down your shoulder in a shining braid netted with pearls. You are simply lovely, and it's not in the distant, unearthly fashion of the Elves that I am soon to meet, but in a way that speaks to my mortal heart. For you are a sudden ray of light after long dark and the first fresh breath of air in this strange, restrictive court.

I know I'm staring, but you have not yet noticed my boorish self. Surrounded by your family, you glow with joy and relief of having them return alive to you. For the briefest moment, I envy the easy cheer, the sense of wholeness that is about you and them. Almost all my family is dead and the only one living is leaving me soon. But you have your father and your brothers, and after all these celebrations are done, you'll be going home with them and you'll never feel lonely again.

My envy vanishes the moment I meet your eyes, kind and bright and warm, and I am ashamed. A thought crosses my mind: _Béma, keep this one safe._

* * *

I cannot guess what is your first impression of me, but I suspect it's nothing too positive. The warm glimmer of your eyes is suppressed when your father introduces me and our gazes lock. I'm still staring, and though I know I'm making a crude impression on you, I can't come up with of anything pleasant to say. You must think me something hideous, the way your cheeks grow red and you avert your eyes. I want to kick myself.

We part ways soon enough, much to your relief. Soon you are laughing again with your brothers, forgetting about the crass foreigner. Perhaps that is for the better. I do not expect a maiden of the south see much that they'd like about a northern barbarian.

Éowyn flutters to my side, eyes bright and excited. She wants to know what I think of you, her new friend. I mutter some superficial pleasantries, but she reads me like an open book.

I can tell she's disappointed.

* * *

I see you at times at the Citadel. There are so many gatherings, it's not possible to avoid meeting one another. You are always polite, but every time we are face to face, I see that uncertain look return to your face. I feel like you are afraid of me, and I hate it. That is the last thing I wanted, but I don't know how to make it better. There are always people around, and I feel like I'd only make a fool of myself.

Best not to say anything. I'm going home soon, anyway.

After Éowyn is married, I will probably never see you again.

* * *

Things are as I expected them in Rohan. So many burned homes, ruined lives, ravaged fields… how does one man fix this? Granted, I have the help of some of the best men and women I've ever known. But none of them have the answers I need, and I know that it is I who must find the way.

I bury myself in work. There is so much to do, it doesn't seem like days have enough hours in them. And yet, though I am on the move from dawn till dusk, I still lie awake at night. Did my uncle ever lose sleep like this? How did he deal with it? Is this why he was easy prey to Wormtongue?

How I wish I could talk to him now. I'm not ready to be king.

I have never felt more alone.

* * *

Éowyn presents me with the idea when we are on our way from Mundburg to bring Uncle's body home. She would like to invite you to stay with her until the wedding – provided that Imrahil will allow you to come. My sister has already come up with a list of reasons, but most of them are lost to me. Instead, I'm wondering to myself: _what is the worst that can happen?_

Coming winter may not be easy in the Mark. Will a southern lady be willing to endure it, far away from her family? Yet I have seen your warm friendship with my sister, and I know your father and brothers to be hardy men. Éowyn will be facing many challenges in her new life. If anything, or anyone, can make it easier for her, then I am only glad. So I tell her yes, much to her delight. She wastes no time in asking for Imrahil's permission and writing a letter of invitation for you. Perhaps it will be all right… even though I both fear and expect it.

 _What is the best that can happen?_

* * *

Finally, I find the strength to visit Théodred's grave.

I have avoided this moment. To see the grave is to really accept that he's not coming back, and somehow, _somehow,_ I've had this dream that it will all prove to be some sort of a ruse, and my cousin will soon come riding home to put things right. But the grave is unavoidable proof, and grief almost overwhelms me.

My cousin, my brother – my Prince is truly gone.

In some ways, it's the blackest moment I've yet had. I recall Théodred's life and all the things he taught me, all the ways he was a better man than I am. It's strange, that this quiet, calm place should somehow pull me under like so after I've already lived through thinking my sister is dead, losing my uncle, and marched to the hope's end at the Black Gates.

It is I who should have died, not Théodred.

I return to the camp, quiet and grim, and my men know to leave me alone. I retire early but I cannot sleep. So, eventually I get up again and walk outside in moonlight for a while. There's a ceaseless ache where my heart is supposed to be as I wander and think about all the things I should have done differently.

There is a sudden movement in the night and I halt, thinking it must be an ambush. But all thoughts fall from me when I see _mearas_ for the first time since I became King.

* * *

My company returns to Edoras. Most of the journey I spend thinking of my cousin, brooding to myself and even forgetting that you will have arrived already. Éothain looks at me in concern but doesn't say anything. No doubt he'll corner me at some point and try to make me talk. But at least for the moment, he is postponing it.

My mind is full when we reach the capital, and so I do not see you until you let out a surprised little cry. I look down and there before me sits a girl in a puddle, and it's somehow the most absurd thing that could happen right now.

I am speechless. I forget that I should get down and help you up; instead, I just stare at you like the fool I am. You stare back, until bright crimson colour spreads across your cheeks and you stumble up. You stammer _Sire_ and go hurrying up the stairs to Meduseld.

I have no idea of what to think.

* * *

Guilt and regret rest heavily on me still. They are like a storm stuck in a valley, unable to move any way, and so it pours and pours down ceaselessly, whipping the ground without mercy. I wonder if it will ever go away.

I don't even try to go sleep, and so I wander the quiet halls of my new home. So many days of my life I have spent here, but I still struggle to feel like it belongs to me. Now more so than ever, for the memory of Théodred is heavy on my mind.

Eventually, I find myself in the feasting hall. It's quiet at this time, but a low fire is burning in the hearth. I approach it and poke it back to life. My mind wanders as I stand there, and I think of the days gone by. How I envy my sister sometimes! She has her eyes fixed on the future, but I feel like I'm stuck in the past.

I am still standing there when I hear your soft slippered feet whisper against the stone floor. I look around and there you stand, dressed in white and hair tumbling down your shoulders – the furthest thing from the scene of earlier today. Once again I'm struck by how very lovely you are, and how your appearance still feels like a breath of air to chase away the shadow. And because of that, I cannot help but just reveal myself to you.

You probably wonder why I'm suddenly blurting out my brooding thoughts, especially seeing the discourteous way I behaved earlier. Anyone would, I think. And yet as I speak of my guilt, you look at me with such sympathy that it overwhelms me.

And then you reach for my hand, and you whisper: _It's not your fault._

It's just the briefest touch, and I still feel like the brush of your fingers shifts my world a little bit. My heart grows lighter and my shoulders stronger under the burden. I let out a breath I have been holding much too long. For the first time since the war ended, I feel like I can _breathe._

When you have left me, I go straight to bed, fall asleep, and have no dreams.

* * *

The next day I hear from an advisor that you saw _mearas_ on your way to Edoras. It seems that there are only a few days between your sighting and mine. What does it mean? I ask myself.

And dare I consider the obvious idea that almost at once springs to my mind? The lady who has seen _mearas_ after so many months of their absence, so near to the time when I myself did… is this a sign for me?

Should I ask for your hand in marriage?

And what would I do if you said no?

I dare not think of it.

* * *

You seem nervous when I enter my rooms, joining you and Éowyn for dinner. She's light and energetic, though, easing the atmosphere with her good cheer. She is excited to talk about your lessons, even though the topic quickly becomes bitter and grim. But you speak to us with tact and respect, never implying that you see your greater sophistication as grounds for arrogance. I like that about you.

And I already know that whatever secret hurts I happen to spill, you'll treat it with delicacy and understanding.

You and Éowyn stay awhile after dinner. Our conversations are light again, and I'm enjoying myself more than I have in some time. Still, there are moments I envy the easy friendship Éowyn has with you. Perhaps it's because she's so happy now, so full of light, just as you are. I still fear that something I say will bring back that uncertain, fearful look to your face.

I wish I could ask you to stay. But it's late and we all have long day ahead of us tomorrow.

When you and Éowyn go, I resign myself to another long and lonely night.

* * *

I have to ride out again. Usually it is effortless; I've done it so many times, it's a second nature for me. But now it feels… odd. Something is holding me back.

You come with Éowyn to send me on my way. She holds me tight and tells me to come back safe and sound. I promise to be home for Harvest Feast.

And then I turn to you. There you stand, eyes wide and grave, and I think maybe you care just as much as Éowyn does. For the first time, you speak to me in my own tongue, telling me to stay safe under Béma's eyes. The sound of your voice sends shivers down my spine and I find myself wanting to touch you again, even if it's just your hand, even if it's just for a second.

But I know I can't. I pull back my hand – when did I move it towards you? – and turn away.

* * *

The journey back is agony. I am hurt, more so than I'd like to admit. It feels like every inch of me from below neck to toes is bruised, each breath I take is like a lance of pain in my ribs, and my head is spinning as we ride through the rain. Éothain is furious when I nearly fall from my saddle, sick and exhausted. I can't blame him.

But I promised to get home for Harvest Feast. I promised.

It could be the last time Éowyn spends the occasion in Meduseld.

At last, we limp through the doors of the Golden Hall and there you are by her side again. Your face grows white as bone when you see me and you rush to meet us, like you are meaning to catch me from falling. Perhaps that would be a fine thing to do, indeed.

My sister is so angry. She lectures me all the way until we reach my rooms, and starts again once Éothain and my squire have peeled the armour off of me. She doesn't even stop when the healer arrives to examine me, although the poor man looks mortified. I don't try to argue with her. I know they are right, her and my captain. I should be more careful.

I _need_ to be more careful.

Eventually I fall asleep, and my sister is watching over me. Yet I still have dark and disturbing dreams, even with her tranquil presence near me.

When I wake up, I don't at first realise I am really awake. For _you_ are there now, sitting where Éowyn did before. How come you are here? I do not think you could ever appear in a nightmare of mine – unless, of course, it was something horrible happening to you.

You jump on your seat when I speak, looking up at me. You are unsure at first, but gradually I see your confidence growing. And then you come to me and your hand presses against my brow, and I close my eyes. What soft, gentle fingers you have; do you not see how it comforts me? I'm so addled, I don't even realise at first my own indecent state, not until I see the way you look at me. I wonder what it means. Are you pleased by what you see, or embarrassed at the impudence of a bruised and battered man daring to sit so close to you?

Either way, this is the first time you reveal your own doubts and fears to me, and you tell me of how it feels like to be in the middle of celebrated heroes. And so I speak to you in a much bolder way than I intended. It is true, all the same. I only started to breathe again after the night we first spoke in the hall. But I do not tell you that. Maybe I never can.

I go to sleep again and this time, I dream of spring.

* * *

You are still with me in the morning. You have fallen asleep in your chair, and though I know it must be uncomfortable, I can only think of how sweet you look there. I dare not disturb you at first, but just watch you for a while. Then you stir, and I swiftly look away.

I can tell something changed last night. There is unguarded warmth between us now, not unlike that easiness I wished for when watching your and Éowyn's friendship. How it delights me to hear your teasing words! I would take a thousand of them, even with the pain in my ribs. Now I see that laughing maiden I first met in Mundburg, and I'm relieved to know that whatever haunts me doesn't drive you away anymore.

It may be an unusual thing, for the fact remains I am a Northern warrior and you a fair lady of the South, but I think this could be the budding of a rare and invaluable friendship.

Stranger things have happened.

* * *

It's my first Harvest Feast as the King of Rohan. The feeling is unreal, as though the shock of being saddled with this burden is falling on me all over again. I feel a little unwell, not to mention sore, but I can't skip this event.

It _is_ my first Harvest feast as the King and I know that many eyes are watching my every move – trying to decide if my succeeding Théoden King is a good or a bad thing.

 _I saw mearas,_ I tell myself whenever I doubt. And then I remember that you did, too.

The Feast is every bit as trying as I expect. There are a few bright parts, though. Moments spent with Éowyn surely are like little pieces of gold, and I store these dear memories to keep with me. And just when I'm starting to despair in the middle of a group of noblemen, you come to me, expertly snatching me away from the oppressive company. I have needed a breather and somehow you knew it.

You take seat next to me and I finally relax a little bit. I feel more drained than usual and I can't hide it from you. But as tempting as rest sounds right now, I know I must endure this. No doubt Éowyn will lecture me again if she notices I'm struggling to keep up, but I will deal with it then.

Sometimes I wonder where she gets that temper of hers. And then I remember I'm not much better in that regard.

We speak and I forget about my sister, about the feast even. I think of how beautiful you are tonight, how you glow with grace and dignity, and yet you don't seem to even know it. And so my tongue runs away with me, and I'm telling you about the night we first spoke in the hall and what it meant to me. I know I shouldn't. But I'm finding it harder and harder to remember the lines.

Your eyes widen. There's something in them… a spark that speaks to me, in a tongue I didn't know I could understand. And so I keep on going and begin to tell you how beautiful you are.

Of course it can't happen. I should know that, and not feel so surprised and disturbed when Déorwine lumbers to the scene, demanding to have a dance with you. Heat flashes through my veins and I wish to tell him how we would not even be having this conversation if I could just move properly. I want to give him a verbal thrashing so bad that I have to bite my tongue, and taste bitter iron in my mouth. And yet at the same time I know I'm out of line.

I have no right to claim any of your dances.

You get up, take his arm, and you are gone.

* * *

 _What a lovely pair they make. Such wonderful dancers!_

The words are whispered nearby as though to taunt me. My head is throbbing and I can't tell if it's from my recent fever or not. I try not to look your way, but my attempts are futile.

They are right, though. You do make a picture with Déorwine, both of you dark-haired and graceful in the manner of those of Númenor's blood. And the way you are smiling! No wonder you and him spent the entire banquet in conversation. You look like you belong there at his arm, or at the arm of someone like him. You were born for the glittering courts of the south, and there your road will lead again once Éowyn is married. It would be madness to expect anything else.

The lies I've been telling myself are laid bare before my eyes. I see now where this road would have lead me, hadn't Déorwine appeared when he did. I have been falling, perhaps ever since I first saw you. Béma, I never thought such a thing was possible, least of all for me.

You saw _mearas,_ but I know now I cannot ask you to marry me.

But if that is the case, then what does any of it mean?

 _To be continued.  
_

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Usually I prefer to write a story's first author's note at the start of the chapter, but with this one, I thought the things I wanted to say would be better explained when the reader had got in the mood and style of this fic.

I started to write this piece after getting some reviews asking to get a chapter from Éomer's point of view. It simply didn't work for me in the frame of the original story, but the more I thought about it, the more I too wanted to explore his thoughts. So, a separate companion piece seemed like the best option. But then I started to think of how to write it, and soon enough I realised there were three things that I wanted: one, it shouldn't be too much like the main story; two, the story would be built around/from the working title "Things I Did Not Tell You At the Time"; three, it should read a bit like a love letter.

Hence the usage of present tense and Éomer speaking directly to Lothíriel. I normally don't like reading stories that use the present tense, it's somehow jarring to me (though there are some exceptions). For this story, however, it seemed like the only possible option. I didn't just want to copy and paste the original story, because that didn't seem interesting to me. But hopefully this way, it will give some additional value to _And Every Winter Change To Spring._

The length of this side story depends entirely on how long the main one will be, but I doubt it will be longer than two or three parts. I shall be leaving for holidays in a couple of days, and may not be able to update _And Every Winter Change To Spring_ before the New Year. In any case, I wish you all Merry Christmas and/or Happy Holidays!

Hope you liked it, and let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

After the Harvest Feast, I try to keep my distance.

It's not an easy thing to do, especially when I see the confused look in your eyes. I wonder what you make of my cooler manners, and I wish I could tell you it's not your fault. But to say it out loud would require explaining things that even I don't fully understand. And so I keep my silence, even though it makes me feel like I have wronged you somehow.

Éowyn suspects something. I can see the little frowns she throws my way when she thinks I'm not watching. She's an open book, much like I am to her. Eventually she asks if something has happened, and I snap at her, telling her to mind her own business. Her hurt expression immediately makes me feel regret.

 _I swear, Éomer, if you ever hurt that sweet girl, I will end you,_ she tells me in a fierce voice and storms off, leaving me even more disconcerted than I was before. But how could I tell her that I would gladly take any personal pain if it meant keeping you from harm?

On the other hand, I'm also fond of how protective she is of you. Are you aware of how very dear you are to her? I think you are to her what Théodred was for me.

I only wish Éowyn will not lose you, like I lost my brother.

* * *

Lord Déorwine returns to visit you the very next day. I see you joining him in the hall and something bitter shifts deep inside. Quickly I turn away, telling myself you are in no way accountable to me for whom you meet. But even so, I study your face intently when I see you later. If you desired Déorwine's attention, I imagine you'd be giddy and excited. If anything, you seem thoughtful and solemn.

Éowyn appears as if from nowhere to my side. She whispers in my ear: _You know, she's not actually that interested in him._

My reaction surprises me. Why would such savage joy burst in my chest? But then I remind myself it means ultimately nothing, and I glare at my sister. Once again, I tell her to go meddling in someone else's business, and I take my leave. My exit would be much more striking if I wasn't limping.

I don't know what to think. Funny, how often you make me feel that way.

* * *

The news arrive from Westfold and the sensation is like being knocked breathless. I feel sick to my stomach and for a moment, I have absolutely no idea of what to do. In battle, I can find my way even when the odds are against me. But this problem I can't solve with my sword.

Something has to be done. I only wish that I knew what it is.

* * *

It's getting late, but we are still arguing back and forth in my study. Éowyn and Éothain are with me and so are my advisers. The debate is starting to go around in circles and nobody has any fresh ideas. I feel the beginnings of a headache throbbing inside my skull.

More than ever I yearn for my uncle's counsel. Now there is no one I can turn to, unless it's Aragorn. But he's far away back in Mundburg, and I'm not sure if he can help any more than he already has.

Our meeting is disrupted by the knock on the door, and I half expect to be delivered more bad news. Instead, it's you standing at the door. Your face is pale and nervous, and your eyes wide as though you are expecting one of us to lurch for your throat. I open my mouth to ask what it is, but Lord Hereward impatiently speaks to me again. I'm forced to turn my attention back to him. Still, from the corner of my eye I see Éowyn talking to you.

Seeing we are not getting anywhere tonight, I finally dismiss my council and tell everyone to go and get some rest. But Éowyn says she's going to bring us some tea, and when she's gone, you are still standing in the study. You don't seem quite so uncertain as you did before.

And you still have this impact on me, when I am doubting and heavy-hearted, making me spill out my burdens. Even as I admit that I don't know what to do, you look at me with perfect faith. It's the strangest thing, the way you regard me like I was something greater than stronger than I actually am.

 _Nothing's falling apart. You will find a way._

You begin to move towards me. I freeze where I stand. Suddenly, as if already knowing your intention, I'm terrified of you. A tiny little lady half my size terrifies me so that I can't even move! I am still boggling over this truly absurd fact when your arms wrap around me, and then my mind goes blank. You remain there despite my lack of reaction, and so at last I am able to move myself. Carefully, ready to pull back at once, I let my arms close around you.

I shut my eyes. The smell of your hair reminds me of spring's first flowers and I breathe deeply. You are all softness and warmth and sweetness against me, and it makes me feel helpless in the most astonishing way. Half of my life, I've believed I'm only as strong as my arm is. But now I understand the power there is in kindness. In a way, it makes you stronger than I can ever be. You are a pillar of steel holding me up.

Tension leaves me utterly. All the noise in my head vanishes and calm comes to me. It's like whole day I've been waiting for this single thing. I had not remembered it could feel so good, so right. What strange magic is in your hands, I wonder? For every time you reach your hand to me, it feels like you are pulling me up from some place deep and dark. I could easily stand like this for a long, long time, but then I feel you shift, and I let go of you.

The sensation of your body pressed against mine lingers after you have gone.

* * *

Next couple weeks are the worst ones yet. I work as hard as I can, sending queries all over the realm to find out if we can weather this crisis alone, or if I need to go begging at Aragorn's doorstep. There are moments when I doubt, but then it's like I hear your voice again: _You will find a way._

It keeps me going. And so I pull through day and night, talking and persuading lords of the land to give their aid. At times I even feel like maybe I can do this, after all. Still, some of them are more reluctant to pay heed. There is distrust among them, and perhaps some even want to see me fail.

I will not give them that satisfaction. I refuse to be a failure.

* * *

Éowyn waltzes into my study and states that we are going to have a dinner this evening. I grumble, but am secretly pleased with her intervention. I could use a night off and of course she knows that.

Even so, I'm tired when I enter my rooms. You and my sister are not yet there, and so I take seat to wait for you. I let out a sigh, feeling like my bones are weighing me down. I'm used to physical exhaustion, but this mental weariness is much to take, especially when there seems to be no reprieve from it.

That is when you arrive. I hear you move and open my eyes to see you approaching. Something untenses at the back of my head and runs down like a river down my spine. You take seat opposite me, arranging your skirts about your feet in delicate little gestures. I try not to stare.

And then you speak, asking uncertainly if I would like to go riding with you tomorrow. I am dumbfounded. You wish to spend time with me? What am I supposed to think? I remember Déorwine and what I resolved on the night of the Harvest Feast. I should say no, but still... how can I refuse you anything? And truth is, I do wish to get some fresh air.

So I say yes, and I think it's worth it just because of the way you smile.

You start to speak about Dol Amroth and insist that I come visit your family. The idea is tempting, but dangerous, too. Even without seeing your home I can imagine how out of place I would be there. I'm not sure I'd know what to do with myself. But you speak of riding on the shore, and I can't help but picture the scene... racing unsaddled with our horses, wind catching in your hair as I chase after you, and watching sun go down beneath the waves as we head back to the home of your father. It comes to me easily. _Too_ easily, and I stop the line of thought.

And I do forget about it, because the way you gush about your home is so endearing. When you open up, you are so earnest and sweet, and it is easy to see why you were able to befriend Éowyn at the blackest time of her life.

I have a feeling that neither I or she really knows what to do with you – except just let you in.

* * *

As much as I enjoy your and Éowyn's company, these evenings spent together so often make me recall what I'd rather forget: it'll all be over soon. These rooms and this Hall will seem emptier when you and my sister have left. What shall I do then?

It is as if you knew, for you come to me once more and put your arms around me. It's easier to respond this time, and yet I wonder if it's a good idea at all to let you touch me. You seem to find the parts of me that are vulnerable with dreadful ease. I wonder if you realise it at all.

But still... I can't recall the last time anyone besides Éowyn hugged me. Even with my misgivings, it would be a lie to say that I dislike it.

Of course, that's what makes it so dangerous.

* * *

The day is fair as we ride out of Edoras. And so are you by my side: your eyes are bright with excitement and there is a soft blush on your cheeks as you raise your face to enjoy the sunlight. I have built my standard of beauty on the women of the Mark and you are quite foreign to it. But I see there's rare beauty in you that shines from inside, like star-sheen about you, and I know it's that very thing that first caught my eye in Mundburg.

You turn to look at me curiously and I offer you a smile. My earlier thoughts I bury deep and tight.

I lose the track of time. It's easy to be with you and to talk with you even without Éowyn to mediate. Your manner is warm and genuine, so different from most nobles I have met in Gondor. Tension falls from me completely and my mood grows lighter than I remember it being in a long time. Then you ask me to show some of horseriding tricks to you, and naturally I lose my caution – I'm out of practice and only just recovered from my injuries, and yet I go on to show some of my fancier stunts. I'm lucky not to pull a muscle or crack a rib. Éothain would throw a fit if he saw me romping like some young foolish thing.

But then I see how the delighted smile on your features, so bright and happy. I decide it's worth the tightness I feel about my recently healed arm.

* * *

I do not particularly wish to return to Edoras yet, but the realm doesn't sleep and there is still a lot of work waiting for me on my desk. So we head back, and I'm wondering how to ask if we could do this again some time. I don't want to come across as too enthusiastic.

It is in that moment that one of my guards cries out. I turn swiftly, ready to shield you with my body and Firefoot's, but at once I realise there's no danger.

Even I have not often seen _mearas_ so close. They tend to keep their distance from most people; they are to be seen, not to be touched.

My heart is racing as I dismount and lift my hand. The young stallion moves with such resolution towards me, and I look a him half in fear, half in hope. All these months I have spent doubting, and though I know no one can make me king unless I do it myself, I still wish for something... for a sign, perhaps.

I am just a man, after all.

It seems that sometimes faith is rewarded. And so the stallion's great head presses against my trembling hand.

 _Béma is with me._

* * *

It's curious how such a small thing can mean so much. This year has been as long as a lifetime, and often I have felt like I can barely stand seeing it to the end. But my meeting with _mearas_ feels like finding I'm stronger than I thought.

But while I attend to my duties with renewed vigour, there is one thing I think about constantly. Three times _mearas_ have shown themselves now: once for me, once for you, and once for us both together. I feel confused and conflicted, for I do not know how to read this riddle. Or, I don't _dare_ to read it in the way that seems most obvious. I have not forgotten about the night of the Harvest Feast.

Still, I look at you sometimes, and I wonder...

* * *

Aragorn's letter arrives and takes me by surprise. I had not expected a word from him yet, though I have anxiously waited for it. As I break the seal and unfold it, my heart beats faster. Something unusual must be afoot in Dol Amroth if Imrahil has answered so quickly.

My guess is more right than one might think. As I read over the lines of Aragorn's steady hand, a strange mixture of emotions rises within. Imrahil has already prepared food aid and it will be shipped to Mundburg at earliest convenience. I can hardly believe my eyes when I read the next bit: this matter was brought to Imrahil's attention by none other than his only daughter!

Why do I get so angry? It's hard to name just one reason. There's my injured pride, surely. But it's also because I feel betrayed. I thought you trusted me, that you would tell me if you were doing something so tremendously significant. You know better than most how much I struggle with this burden Théoden left to me, and how badly I need to succeed. But now you have gone behind both mine and Éowyn's backs, planning your own devices in secret. Do I not deserve to know things that concern my own people? Or do you think so little of me, that you believe it's not worth your time to disclose your intentions to a lesser king of a mere barbarian people? It's like fire rushing through my veins, this thought that in the end, you regard us no different than the rest of the pompous, self-satisfied courtiers I had met and loathed in Gondor.

I had thought there was confidence between you and me.

And so fury takes me. It directs me when I send a guard to find you, and it puts words in my mouth when you enter the study and ask what's the matter. Your face grows pale and the light of your eyes grows dim. You look _scared._ But your stammered explanations only fuel my anger, and I want to grab you by shoulders and give you a good shake. _Why didn't you tell me? Why did you lead me on? Why did you come all the way here if you truly regard us with this condescension?_

Then I realise: I'm only so angry because I'm hurting. And I am hurting because against my better judgement, I have let you become more important to me than I ever intended.

What a fool I am.

So I do the only thing I know: hide the pain in anger and use it as a sword. I let it spill out, even though a tiny part of my mind is screaming against it. Tears fill your eyes and the look on your face breaks my heart all over again. _I have made you cry._ Then you run out, leaving me standing there – frozen and cold.

* * *

I have known disappointments in my life, but there's something particularly bitter about this one. I'm not sure why. Maybe I had just valued our friendship more than I had known. I don't know if it can be mended after the way I lashed out. You are so gentle and soft-hearted, my savage reaction may have permanently damaged things.

But these reflections don't come to me until much later. The next morning, I'm still in an ill mood. It only gets worse when Éowyn corners me and demands I apologise to you.

Her heart is in a good place, and she's always been protective of those she cares about. Of course she rises to your defence. Her timing is not ideal, though: I'm still deep in my stubborn seething. And so our argument ends with me storming out.

* * *

Once I am alone, I read Aragorn's letter again. It doesn't re-ignite my fury. Instead, I'm counting days, and I realise you must have sent your message to Dol Amroth on the very day we got the news. In my experience, such swift reactions tend to spring from distress, not from self-conceit. Evidence is starting to amass before me. Éowyn's words are ringing in my ears and I remember your timid attempts to respond to my heated accusations. _Not condescension, but compassion._

Doubt takes the place of anger. Have I made a mistake? My temper can be a dreadful thing, I know that much.

I made you cry. _I made you cry._ The sheer idea makes my skin crawl. If any other man hurt your feelings so, I would have his hide. I should hold myself to the same standard. How concerned I was that you had betrayed our friendship, and yet I did not even give you a proper chance to explain! I was too harsh, too impatient, too hot-tempered. Yes, I was wrong to get angry. So I face the truth: I owe you an apology.

Instinct tells me to go at once and find you. But I ignore it, because my steward and secretary choose that moment to inconvenience me, and they want to talk about a problem in ledgers they had noticed. I decide to come after you later on. Only, it turns out I should have listened to my gut: when I finally get out of my study and go looking for you, I am told you and Éowyn have gone out riding and are probably staying out late.

And then, as if to mock me further, a messenger arrives in haste from the West-Mark. He brings word from Erkenbrand. My friend writes of Dunlending activity over the river Isen and of a tribe of them asking to talk with me. I know that I must ride at once. Our relationship with Dunlendings remains volatile even after the Battle of Helm's Deep, but if some of them are willing to talk, then that is better news than anything I've had from them in a long time. Yet any delay in my part may snatch away this rare chance.

However, going now means leaving you thinking that I'm a hideous beast. When are you coming back? If I don't make ready soon, we'll lose an entire day. So I tell Éothain to prepare the men while I wait in anxiety. Maybe you and Éowyn will get back in time.

Or, I could leave you a note. But what should I tell you in it? I hurry back to my study and start a letter, crumple it in frustration after a few clumsy lines, and then pull a fresh sheet before me. It turns out even worse, and I throw my quill away in growing unease. I cannot concentrate. Apologising in a letter seems like a cowardly thing to do when these are things I should say face to face. I'm not good at explaining myself in writing, and sometimes not even in spoken words. Béma, when did I get so awry? Maybe I'm a broken excuse of a man and I can't ever be fixed.

In angry frustration, I sweep the notes away and storm out to get ready. It's no use.

Maybe the only good thing I can do by you is just let you go.

* * *

I know I should be focusing at the matter at hand, but my thoughts keep returning to you as we ride for the West-Mark. I want to turn my horse and race back, to put things right. But I am king now, and I can't go chasing after every impulse that occurs to me… even though it's not really an impulse that I feel. It's more of a _need._

I'm used to putting my own needs behind duty. It's just never been this hard.

Erkenbrand and his party come to join mine, riding from his seat in the Hornburg. He and a few of his lads speak the tongue of Dunlendings and no one in the Mark is more experienced in dealing with them. If there is any chance of reaching some kind of an understanding with Dunlendings, it depends on Erkenbrand.

We meet them across the stream of Isen. While they have an actual issue they wish to discuss, I get the feeling this is happening also because they wanted to see the new King of Rohan. No wonder: much depends on the ruling king's policies. Their faces are wary and doubtful as we speak, but their fear overcomes their mistrust: orcs have been raiding their side of Isen, too, and their scattered tribes cannot hold the enemy back alone. I do not know if our truce and plans to fight the marauding bands will lead to a lasting peace, but I do feel hopeful when a deal is struck after two days of negotiations.

 _It would be quite a feat for the King of the Mark to win the friendship of Dunlendings,_ Erkenbrand tells me as we ride back, _but if anyone can do it, I think it's you._

* * *

Knowing things are now in Erkenbrand's capable hands, I turn homeward. I am more anxious than ever to get home and speak with you. I can only wonder how these past several days have felt like for you. Do you think I'm still angry with you? The thought consumes my mind.

So we ride in haste, and I see the curious look on Éothain's face. He goes as far as to ask why are we in such a hurry. I shrug and tell him I have unfinished business in Edoras. I leave the rest to his imagination.

Unfortunately, Éothain can imagine quite a deal.

* * *

The moment I dismount in the courtyard of Meduseld, people want to talk to me, or they have questions ,or some complaint. I suppress a sigh. It seems to be so every time I'm away for longer than two days. Still, I allow myself to be dragged to the royal stables to take a look of one mare's leg that seems to be lame, and then another stable-hand wants to have a word about a certain yearling I have been training as a spare mount. I try to ignore the unpleasant, itchy feeling of my dirty clothes underneath the armour.

Eventually, Éothain intervenes and helps me to make a run for it. If I just walk fast and with purpose, I might make it to my rooms before anyone else gets a hold of me. Perhaps I could sneak in through the kitchens. I dismiss the idea as soon as I consider the chief cook's reaction to a dirty Rider marching through her spotless domain.

But as soon as I exit the stables, I see you, talking quietly with Déorwine. His face is beaming as he picks up your hand and kisses it. Something cold shifts and turns in the bottom of my stomach.

He turns and you lift your face, looking straight at me. Colour spreads across your cheeks and you avert your eyes before you make your way up the steps of Meduseld.

I can only wonder what you read on my features just then.

* * *

My original intention was to come look for you as soon as possible. But the awkward moment in the courtyard makes me realise I don't know what to say to you. And after my hideous behaviour, I'm afraid of upsetting you again. I need to be certain of my words if I mean to mend things.

And there is the matter of Déorwine. How should I take the scene I witnessed outside? Éowyn said you are not that interested in him, and she would know. Then I remind myself that it's only natural you'd seek the companionship of those with milder tempers after I acted so horribly. Perhaps some natural instinct is guiding you to the one who can never hurt you.

With a sigh, I rub my face and fall to sit down on the edge of my bed. I feel like such a fool. I suppose all this is because I've been wound around war and uncertainty and my anger for so long that it feels like a shadow following me; I can't get away from it because it's part of my fate. And how could I allow you to get caught in it? You are all the good things that have been gone for so many years, I'm scared I will only taint you, too. You are too precious.

What can I do, then? The answer is so obvious.

I just tell you I'm sorry.

* * *

Éowyn comes, already fuming and ready to give me another scolding. But I lift my hand and simply state that she was right all along. She looks surprised and I'm wryly amused despite all; I can't catch her speechless very often. Perhaps she didn't expect me to speak so softly, or to give up my stubborn pride without yet another confrontation.

Maybe something's changing.

Before she can collect herself, I ask her if the two of you are going to have a lesson in the morning. She nods, and I ask if I could take that opportunity to talk with you. It's already getting late and I still have to find the right words, but I hope a new day will bring us both a clarity.

My sister rests a hand against my shoulder. There is a curious look on her face, like she'd dearly want to tell me something. But before I can speak one word, she bids me good night and leaves.

* * *

Morning comes.

I am standing at the door of the Queen's solar. You are there inside, waiting for Éowyn to join you. I wonder what you expect the rest of your time in Rohan to be… if you mean to avoid me until spring. I can't blame you if you did.

There's no guarantee of anything, no promise of tomorrow. Maybe there's just faith and choosing to have it. All I can do, in the end, is say what I need to and hope for the best. After that… well, I guess you decide what happens next.

I take a deep breath and step inside.

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** And here is a new chapter to the story! I hope you all enjoyed it. :)

As ever, it's fun being inside Éomer's head. He's so full of self-doubt and disquietude, and though I expect we all want to just see him happy, these are such interesting emotions to explore. They are also in good part the reason to how he reacts to the actions Lothíriel takes to help out. He's worried that she's not as invested in their friendship, which is of course quite the wrong assumption, as you will know by reading the main story. But as soon as he really has a chance to simmer down and think it over, he's quick to realise his own error. In fact, a lot of both his and hers reasonings are based on wrong assumptions, because neither dares to presume the other could care as much as they do!

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 **Cricklewood16 -** Happy to hear you liked it! :)

 **Catspector -** Thank you!

 **Jeraly -** Glad you liked it! I hope you had a great Christmas. :)

 **Tibblets -** Thanks! :)

 **HannahKathleen -** Thank you! It's fun to introduce these moments Lothíriel isn't privy to, because so much more is going on with him than she could ever guess!

 **Golden Haired Ravenclaw -** Happy to hear it!

 **Anon -** He feels quite deeply, even if he hasn't even admitted it to himself yet. You are quite right - he keeps doubting and worrying about everything to the point where it's eating him away. But her friendship is so important to him, he is definitely at the point now where he wants to restore it!

 **Wondereye -** I'm not sure Éothain is that invested in trying to interfere, though!

 **coecoe11 -** Thank you!

 **Jo -** Poor man has his doubts, unfortunately!

 **Doranwen -** Thanks! I'm glad you liked it. :)

 **Menelwen -** I'm happy you found this one, too! It's interesting being inside his head, the way he's so anxious about a lot of things, and then there's this young lady who gets under his skin in a way that's wholly unfamiliar to him... but I'm so glad if you liked the story that much!

 **sai19 -** Thank you! It's fascinating to explore him as this troubled and apprehensive man who is just trying to do his best. He has his confident side, but she's so different from what he's used to, and so he doesn't really what to do with himself when she's around. Anyway, I'm flattered if my humble piece of writing could make you love him even more!

 **blasttyrant -** Thank you! :)

 **darkone7142 -** Happy to hear you like the story! It's really enjoyable to write his perspective, too. :)


	3. Chapter 3

I step into the Queen's solar, feeling like a wretched lad of sixteen summers. One might think I had never spoken to a lady before now! Partially that's true. There are no ladies like you in the Mark, and sometimes I have no idea of how to speak to you.

Sunlight streams upon your head, wreathing you in gold. There is a shimmer on your dark hair and for a moment, I can only watch and admire. You look up and your eyes grow wide when you see it's me, not Éowyn at the door. I stand still, uncertain of how to proceed. Your expression reminds me of a startled deer, and it does not leave your face even as I finally move to take seat opposite you.

Pangs of regret go through me. You're afraid of me again, like you used to be before that first night in the hall, and there's no one but myself that I can blame. You are such a sweet, gentle thing, and now I can hardly understand how could I possibly get so angry with you.

So I apologise and tell you how sorry I am, how wrong it was of me to lash out like I did. As I speak, I begin to see your shoulders relax and your expression grow less and less fearful. Light returns to your grey eyes once more. And then I know I have not ruined everything: I still have your friendship, though I do not know if I deserve it.

Then you say you acted because of me – that it's all for me. I look at you in wonder and gratitude. You were looking out for me all along.

I was not told that such could be when one became king. All I ever expected was that this burden had to be carried alone.

My hand rests on the table and all of a sudden you reach for it. The touch of your fingertips is light at first, so soft as if your very bones did not know to hurt another. And all I've been doing with my life is killing mine and Rohan's enemies. I suppose it's because of this softness that I can tell you things that no one else knows.

I turn my hand, so that my own fingertips press against your palm. You smile at me, and I know I ought to count my lucky stars.

* * *

I try to check myself in the days that follow. I worry that I'll say or do something that startles you away, and it's the last thing I want; I still recall the fearful look on your face, and I don't want to see it again. Maybe I'm being overcautious. But then, one conflict is quite enough for me.

Either way, Éowyn is pleased. She gloats silently but doesn't say much. I assume she has her own hopes and expectations, and no wonder: notions of weddings and marriages are often in her mind these days. Doubtlessly she feels some guilt over her nearing departure, and hopes that her leaving could be made easier by someone else staying. I guess she's now harbouring some foolish notion you might be the one to look after me when she's gone.

The thought is, of course, impossible.

* * *

I know it's not that many weeks until Yule. Éowyn has reminded me of it a few times: she is hoping to give you something special as a gift, and I share the sentiment. We both have spent some time wondering what it should be. I know there are many things I'd like to give to you, but most of them are quite inappropriate. No matter what my sister likes to say, I do possess a measure of good sense.

Eventually, I go digging in the royal treasury. After the way you have aided us both and been a loyal friend, I wish to gift you with a thing of great value.

I find the earrings and the necklace in a bundle. Has anyone touched them since Théoden our uncle? I know he brought many things from Aldburg after the funeral to keep them safe for his sister-children. I recognise the jewels at once: how many times did I see my mother wearing them? They glistened against her skin in happier days. Somehow at once, I know these are the right thing.

So I show them to Éowyn and ask her if she wouldn't rather have them. But she smiles, telling me that it's the perfect gift. It's something you may keep when our roads are sundered again. I hope it may remind you of Rohan when you return to your home by the sea.

She asks me when we are going to give this gift to you. But I tell her I'd rather she chose the moment. I wouldn't know what to say, and once you hear these were our mother's, you may try to refuse them. This gift will be easier for you to accept from Éowyn's hand.

Of course, there's more to it. I'm afraid of what I might feel. This way, we'll both be safe.

* * *

I am counting the days to when the shipment from Dol Amroth should arrive. At last it does, filling the capital with excitement, and myself with relief for the knowledge that the winter shall pass without famine. Dol Amroth has been generous to us indeed, as is plain to see as I gaze at the laden wagons. I do not know how to repay you and your father. It seems that I am forever fated to be in the debt of your House.

With the goods come some very unexpected tidings about _mearas._ For days afterwards I will be thinking and wondering about it, and yet come to the same conclusion each time. _I have been accepted._

But I can't help but think there's a another meaning, too. Twice now they are connected with your name – or thrice, for you were there when I last saw _mearas_ on the plains _._

It would be so easy to take this at face value. So easy, and so tempting. But it's also a matter of your life, and mine. And there is a good deal of sentiment in me, though I tend to hide it.

If such a wondrous thing should come to pass, I'd like it to be a choice made by ourselves, not the Powers that be.

* * *

The mood is festive in Meduseld. It seems like the veil of dark clouds has lifted and a new day has chased the night away. The sense of relief still washes over me again at times, and I glance at your smiling face. There's one less thing for me to worry about and my shoulders feel lighter.

The good sergeant fills me in on the details over the dinner. Several times he returns to his wonder about _mearas_ , which does not surprise me. My own awe is close to my thoughts.

After the meal, my sister wants us to listen to some music and singing. So are Eorlingas: in sadness and joy, there will always be singing. And like I hear her saying to you, tonight is special.

So I find you sitting next to me, and your face is bright and eager, though by now you are quite familiar with the songs of my land. But when my bard begins the melancholy tune that tells of the Long Winter, you grow sombre and thoughtful.

I've thought about Fréalaf many times this past year. He too saw a darkness fall on the Riddermark, witnessed the fear and distress of Eorlingas, and lost his uncle and his cousins. He saw the preceding line of kings fail, and rose to restore a new one to the throne. I had never thought that his fate would also be mine.

I wonder what he would tell me if there was a way to speak to him.

Scýne comes to sing the next song. It's about Hild, Fréalaf's mother. In that regard his life was different than mine, having the help and guidance of a fearless woman. In all our histories, she's spoken of as a lady who was queen in every regard except in name. Strange that a daughter of her line should fail like Théodwyn Thengeldohtor did.

Suddenly, I feel soft pressure against my shoulder, and all thoughts of my late mother vanish at once. I look down, but try not to move. Your sweet head has fallen against me and at first I feel bewildered and glad. What if Éowyn has a point?

But then I realise you're just dozing off, and I happen to be a convenient cushion. I don't want to disturb you. I could just pick you up and carry you to bed. Of course, both options are impossible. So, carefully I reach to shake your shoulder, startling you back to the waking world. At first you look like you don't know where you are, and you blink a few times before your eyes focus again.

You look unsteady as you try to stand up. My hand moves as if on its own and only seconds later, you take support of it, like you already knew it was there. I marvel at myself. Usually, I try to keep my hands in check, except for those affairs in the dark of the night that I don't reminisce much afterwards. But that's not the same thing at all. This kind of touch is different. This is… pure somehow.

You give me an embarrassed look as you bid me good night and teeter away.

I let out a breath I had not noticed holding.

* * *

In the morning my company makes ready for the road.

The watches on our borders in the west and north have been fortified, and orcs should not pass by so easily as before. But even then, I'm not risking the chance that they come marauding again. This time, I'll see it personally that the goods from Dol Amroth are delivered into the hands of those in need.

You follow us outside, and hover close as I say goodbyes to Éowyn. From the corner of my eye I see the uncertain look on your features, as though you still felt like you had no business being here. What do you fear? Are we not friends?

I turn to speak to you once more. There are so many things I'd like to say, but nothing that comes out of my mouth conveys my gratitude and relief properly. You try to understate your part, but I will not have such talk come from you. For it was you who saw our need and took action, and no one, not even you, can distract me from this fact.

And then, feeling that no word of mine can really convey what I feel, I pick up your hand. I press my lips against your knuckles and breathe in the scent of your smooth, warm skin. When I look back up again, your cheeks are red and your eyes are very bright. You are so endearing when you get flustered. I almost pull you in my arms.

But the road is calling and I have many miles to go today. There's no reason to lengthen the farewell. So I take my leave, but the thought of you remains with me long after Edoras has fallen behind.

* * *

Days turn into weeks. There is much to do and often it seems like hours of day are not quite enough. We ride from one homestead to another and visit what villages there remain after Saruman's carnage. Even though summer's growth has healed some wounds in the land, I still feel helpless anger when I see the lingering signs of war in the once so rich and fertile vales. Reports have come down from the Shire that the wizard is no more, but the memory of his evil still remains. It's so easy to break and to destroy; much more difficult is to build anew and wash away the filth and grime. Perhaps that is why weak hearts are not hard to corrupt.

It's slow going with fully loaded wagons, but our coming is always greeted in joy and relief. There's wonder on hungry faces when sacks of grain and other goods are brought out. Once more, I think of you in gratitude. If only you could be here and see the good you have wrought!

When I get to the Hornburg, it appears I am sorely needed there, too. Many are still taking shelter in the fortress, for rebuilding is still going on and some have no one else to turn to now that their husbands and brothers are sleeping under the great mounds in eastern fields. Some need advice, others justice, and some just comfort. There are disputes and concerns and hopes, none of which are too small for a king to worry about. And at the same time, there are other labours of the realm, for messengers ride from the East-Mark almost daily. To myself, I consider I will have to go and spend some time in the eastern parts of the kingdom in spring after the wedding. Otherwise, they will feel like I'm favouring the west at their expense. The Mark needs unity now more than ever.

It's a job that never ends. Even now, there are those who think I ride too often to the Isen to meet Dunlending tribes. Distrust and hate of our neighbours run deep in the Westfold. But if a more lasting truce can be won, then I must try. Negotiations are extremely slow, though: if my own folk is distrusting, so are they. And both sides take endless reassuring to hold this fragile peace. Thank Béma, I have the support of Lord Erkenbrand and his wife, Lady Léoma. Both are well respected in the West-Mark, and she has long been the champion of the small folk and the counsellor of her husband and my late cousin. I know I'm lucky that she likes me; her support smooths down many feathers that would otherwise be ruffled.

I write to Éowyn when I get the chance. In the letters I send my regards to you, but I do not wish to be too bold. When I ask about you, I try to veil it in such a way that question also includes my sister. Of course, I could write directly to you. But would it seem too odd? I can never decide.

The year grows old and Yuletide approaches. I'm torn between staying where I am and returning to Edoras. I do not wish to be alone for the celebrations, and yet the situation in the West-Mark remains worrisome. Once again duty and desire clash, leaving bitterness in their wake.

But I disregard one thing. There's a lady in Meduseld who seems to enjoy turning the tables when I least expect it.

* * *

When the wagons roll into the courtyard of the Hornburg, my first thought is these are some late arrivals from Dol Amroth. But the Rider on the front announces these are goods sent by the Lady Éowyn for the Yule Feast, and she and her party are only a day's travel behind.

I stand dumbstruck. So she has decided to take the court here! In the middle of winter! And without any kind of message to me before it's already too late to tell her not to come! The lass grows more cunning with age, I admit in grudging admiration, though I'm not entirely pleased. Granted, the journey is not as dangerous as it has been. But something could still happen, and if she travels in state, the Hornburg will be bursting with people. I expect Erkenbrand and Léoma to be dismayed at this news, but their reaction takes me by surprise. They both get excited as though a pair of children.

 _The Hornburg has not seen such a Yuletide in our reckoning,_ he says in his booming voice, _and probably won't again, at least in my time._

It seems that I am outnumbered.

The next morning there are heavy clouds in the sky. Snow begins to fall and the wind picks up. Concern twists in my heart like a knife. It looks like this weather will turn into a storm, and yet my sister's company is still on its way. It is quite likely that you are with her; she would drag you along even if you didn't want to come. I frown at the thought. I don't like the idea of you out there in the cold.

But the miles before the Helm's Deep are open and comfortless in a snowstorm. Éowyn won't try to take shelter on the plains, but instead press for the stronghold. Many things could go wrong, especially when it starts to get colder. Fear pushes on me heavier and heavier. Often I climb on the rampart and try to see over the plains, but snow is coming down hard and thick. I burn to saddle my horse and go looking for you, to make sure you get safely to the Hornburg. And yet I know there's nothing that I can do, and Erkenbrand will never let me go riding in the storm.

It is getting late when you arrive at last. Storm is still going on, but your company has steered true. Relief comes over me so strong, it makes me shake. And then I see you riding next to Éowyn, pale as death and stiff like you were half-frozen in your saddle. The sight wrenches my gut.

As soon as you halt I begin to scold my sister. But I do not forget you. You are struggling miserably to get down, but the long ride in this abysmal weather has left you inert. I step to the side of your mare and carefully place my hands on your waist, lifting you down. The weight of you is pressed against me, like you were too cold and weary to support yourself. I'm glad to provide the aid, even in the middle of a lecture.

Éowyn regards me with one eyebrow raised. Her meaningful look only starts to make sense when you speak up suddenly, asking me not to angry with her. And then you reveal it was your idea all along to come spend Yuletide here!

I am left speechless and astonished. I stare down at you, but your eyes are lowered, and I can only see the top of your head. What a slight thing you are, and yet you keep taking me unawares time and again! I can't even be angry with you. And now I wonder why I _should_ be, because you and Éowyn are here, and this promises the merriest Yuletide that I could imagine?

I know what my sister would say. I worry too much.

Not that I would admit it out loud.

* * *

In the morning, there is some colour on your face again, and it does not seem like you caught cold in that trudge through snow. I'm glad to see your spirits restored. And so like I promised last night, I take you to see the fortress. By your interest and questions, one might imagine you had grown up in a hut by the sea instead of a palace built by the greatest architects and engineers that ever have been among Mortal Men.

I lose the track of time as we wander in the halls and corridors, and at last emerge into the bright sunshine. It's blinding almost, thanks to the fresh snow that now covers the landscape. The scene seems clean and the sensation is eerie. I remember the battle that was fought here all too well, the blood and the gore on trampled grass, and most poignant it is at the rampart and the great gap in the wall.

It's not surprising that you notice the shift in my mood. And by now, I have no mind to hold back. You say you don't know what to tell me, but your words do more than you guess. Or maybe it's not the words, but the way you speak them, the way you look at me when you answer.

Truth is, not all memories of the Ring War are bad. I made friends with kings and Elves and Dwarves, saw things of wonder and majesty, and lived to witness the day when the Shadow passed. It is more than a mortal man could imagine. But I'm glad it's over now, and for every good moment, there were ten bad ones. Some of them have not yet ceased to haunt my dreams.

And yet today, as we make our way from the wall, I do think it's not as bad as I thought before, and for the first time, I consider the idea of moving on.

* * *

Yule comes at last. I am not spending it alone in a chilly fortress like I feared. There is such noise and life in the halls and corridors of the old stronghold, I wonder if these stone walls have ever witnessed the like before.

Admittedly, I feel some excitement as I arrive for the breakfast. I recall the earrings and the necklace. You have not made any mention of them, and so I guess Éowyn has not yet given you our gift. But if there ever was a better time than this morning, I'm not sure. For the first time, I'm worried you won't like it. I can't explain it, but it seems important that you should have something to remember us by once you have gone.

It seems that the gift was to your liking, for you are wearing the jewels as you and Éowyn come to join me. Blushing, you give me your thanks and apologise for not getting anything in return. I wave the matter away. You have already given me so much, it would be unseemly to expect even more. In the quiet of my thoughts, I am more pleased than I show you.

After the breakfast we go to see some of the games outside. You keep near to Éowyn and me, but I know that is because of the crowd around us. Yet little by little you move closer as we stand watching the sports, until you suddenly lose your footing, and my hands flash to catch you before I realise what I'm doing. Briefly you lean your back against me. I swallow hard and close my eyes. It's clear you are used to a level of contact with your near ones that is rather alarming for me. But I do not have the heart to discourage you.

As if knowing my sudden discomfiture, it's not long Éowyn leads you away, talking about taking a walk on the rampart. Little by little I grow easier, though by now I'm hopelessly clueless on the current score in games. Funny, how little things can be so distracting.

* * *

Evening comes and the time of the feast grows near. I have washed and changed into one of my better tunics, which Éowyn has helpfully brought along. She seems to think I don't understand the idea of tidying up, and is constantly berating me on bringing half the mud in Rohan to Meduseld's floors. She's wrong, though. I do get the notion, but sometimes there's just no time for grooming.

A few people are already in the hall when I arrive. Lady Léoma is adding finishing touches with her servants, and Éothain and Erkenbrand and old Gamling are talking away near the master table. I go to join them, but my thoughts wander and I follow their conversation only in half.

There is some commotion at the twin doors of the hall. I glance that way briefly. Then I look again, and I feel like time stops.

A figure approaches slowly, arrayed in a shade like dark, rich wine. Skirts rustle softly with graceful movement. Raven hair, shining in the light of candles, streams down in soft waves. I had never thought of having a fancy for dark hair, but in this moment I find myself reconsidering a lot of notions I previously held true. The blush on those cheeks is like roses blooming. And a pair of bright, grey eyes meets my own – shy and sweet and eager. You have never looked more beautiful.

I am lost. I am lost and the only thing I can think of is how much I want you.

Yes, I want you, like the very earth wants rain and river wants the sea, and I would give up all that I have if it meant you would be mine.

I am still staring when you halt before me. The blush on your face deepens and you look down; my gaze must truly be a bold one. But whether or not you understand the meaning of it, I can't say.

It is Éowyn's voice that shakes me back to my senses. Her tone is mild and nothing on her features betrays that she has observed something unusual or unexpected. But she's not oblivious or blind. I am sure she already knows what's happening, and if Théodred were still living, they would now be ruthlessly joking at my expense. Should I be worried or not? If she gets it in her head to play some sort of a matchmaking game, then I'd do well if I went and threw myself down in a fen right now.

And all the while these thoughts run through my head, you remain there. Béma, it's painful to look at you! I nearly reach to brush my hand against your hair. Of all the nights, you had to pick this one to wear it open! If I make it to morning alive, it'll be a wonder

So, like the fool I am, I ask you to dance with me tonight. Almost I do not believe my ears when you suggest the very worst, the truest thing: just one dance is not enough. Well, it may take you more than just one dance to kill me, that much I am willing to admit.

We sit down. I take a hearty sip of mead to give myself a moment to get a grip, and so the feast begins. People stream in and I do my best to focus on them; thank all the Powers Éowyn is sitting between us, somewhat blocking my view to your direction. But I can almost feel her gloating, as though she's about to win an argument that has been going on for years.

Thankfully, Erkenbrand engages me in conversation for the better part of the feast. I feel nearly normal again, even if I never forget for a single moment where you are sitting. And moments come when I hear your soft voice and sweet laughter. A shiver runs down my spine.

Béma, what trouble I'm in now.

* * *

The moment I've dreaded and waited arrives at last when Éowyn brings you through the crowd and leaves us alone. We are both awkward at first, and then speak at the same time. Like a lumbering fool, I'm blurting out how beautiful you are. You look surprised and embarrassed, though it's nothing but the truth.

All the same, you take my hand, and I start to make for the centre floor. People make us way and for a moment I feel like some idiot who has just won some kind of a competition. I can't help but gaze around in challenge. _If you want her, get in line!_

But then, you alone decide who has your favour, and I do not believe women much appreciate having possessive fools obsess over them.

We take our places among other dancers and the music begins. I'm not as nimble a dancer as Théodred was, but he did make sure I would not be stumbling over my feet on a dance floor. As we whirl around the other dancers, I'm silently thankful to my late cousin, however pointless it seemed at the time to be learning such skills. You get a hang of it quickly, and I think we both are rather enjoying ourselves. Maybe this is not so bad after all.

The third dance comes. The third and the last, because I believe there is indeed a line behind me. And this is the worst one, because now I must touch you more than just your hand, and so I ask if I may put my hands on you.

You nod shyly. Your hand is small and warm in my own and the fabric of your gown on your waist feels soft and fine. I can feel your fingers trembling at first when you place them on my shoulder, but slowly the pressure of your hand grows. The tune is different now, faster and richer, and we begin to move to it. I hardly look where I'm leading us, for it's difficult to keep my eyes from you. You stare right back, serious but not sad, so young and yet so sound at the same time. The world seems far away and there's only you and the song. How I wish it did not have to end!

And even as it does, I do not let go of you. Nor do you try to pull away, but hold still in my arms. How can one feel so many things at once? I am full of confusion and wonder and yearning and it makes me giddy. But above all, there's _want._ I've felt it before, but this… this time it's different. I don't know how to explain it.

I wish I could hold you closer.

* * *

We walk outside. It seems we're both in the need of some fresh air: you look faint and I feel light-headed. Slowly I relax again as the cool breeze clears my thoughts somewhat. And fortunately so, for I have already walked a very thin line tonight, and I know it would only take a little push to fall.

It's a fair night. Light and noise stream outside from the keep. There music goes on and so does the laughing and singing. But the Deep is quiet and peaceful and moon shines bright over the land.

It is Yule. The old sun dies and new one is born. The year is coming to its end, and what a year it has been. Seems like the world has changed in that time, and last Yule feels like it was a lifetime ago. But however happy this night is, I have dreaded it. It's yet another milestone telling me that my time is running short, and after tonight, spring will be that much closer.

So I tell you. I don't mean to ruin these moments with my melancholy, but this poison has been gnawing at me for so long and I feel like I will choke on it if I don't say anything. And you – you are always discreet and patient. A king doesn't get to be incomplete or lonely or wretched, but I am all those things, and it's weary work to always be hiding it. One would expect you to be sick and tired of my griefs and frustrations by now, and yet you regard me with the same compassion as ever. You still have kind words in store for me.

I was quite right. It does take only a little push.

You stand so close, leaning your elbows against the railing and touching my forearm. I can feel your arm against mine. You meet my eyes, a little bit uncertain and a little bit earnest. and altogether alluring. All this time, since the moment we first spoke in the great hall of Meduseld, your hand has been reaching for me – pulling me up from a pit which I'm only now starting to see in full. And I, the stubborn, dismal fool, have been too in love with my misery to take your hand.

Maybe it's time to stop holding back.

And so I lean down closer to you, doing what I've yearned to since I first saw you tonight. Your breath comes in shallow little gasps and you close your eyes, and I think we both know what's going to happen. I press my left hand lightly against your cheek and my fingertips whisper at your soft hair. I savour the moment before the plunge, though I'm now close enough to feel the warmth of your skin, to smell the sweet mead in your breath… your lips are slightly parted and I ache to explore their shape, their feel, their response… with my free hand I grasp the stone, because I am falling hard.

It is that moment there's loud noise from somewhere behind. You jump in fright and I press my arm against you, half expecting to be ambushed right there. Quickly enough I see it's only a drunken racket down in the courtyard.

The moment has passed. I bite back a curse and fight a fierce desire to go down to give the whole bunch of them a good whipping. But next to me you are shaking a little bit, still startled and again withdrawn. I know there's no regaining that feeling and connection that only seconds ago beat so keenly between us – not tonight, at any rate.

So I take you back inside. And though nothing more should happen for the rest of the feast, I must now admit the truth to myself.

I am hopelessly, hopelessly in love with you.

 _To be continued._

* * *

 **A/N:** *heavy breathing* So, here we are. Our stubborn horselord has finally come to terms with what he feels for Lothíriel! I very much enjoyed writing that last bit, and I hope you did too! Upcoming chapter(s) of the main story should be quite interesting.

It's always lovely being in Éomer's head, and I've become fond of this side story. Originally, I thought this would be two or three chapters tops, but turns out he really has a lot to say.

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

* * *

 **Serni -** Yes, I do try to get this story going as much as I can, and not dwell too much on things the reader already knows from the main story, unless Éomer's POV can give some further insight. It's interesting to let their relationship turn from friendship to love; sometimes that can be more solid foundation for romantic love than some "love at first sight" situation.

 **sai19 -** Thank you! I'm glad you are enjoying the story. :)

I'm sure both are fairly well aware of what's going on, but I think they still have this "eating popcorn and watching from sidelines" -attitude going on! :D

 **EStrunk -** Happy to hear it! :) And I'm glad the last chapter could shed more light on why he was so offended!

 **Doranwen -** Thank you! :)

 **frank . kilgenschmidt -** Thank you! That is quite the flattery, because I admit I often worry if I do him justice, and there are some great portrayals of him out there. I think it's a sore spot for him, thinking he has hurt someone he cares about.

 **Cricklewood16 -** Thanks! I am rather enjoying this particular style, too, although it's normally not something I like to do. But it does suit this story.

Glad if I could turn your annoyance to compassion! Poor lad was not having a good time.

 **Anon -** Good to hear it! I think they are still trying to find that balance that would allow them to really admit out loud what they feel for one another, but at least they both now are aware of their feelings!

 **Guest -** Sorry about that, I guess! :D

 **Jo -** Poor man tries his best! I think he's been dropping some pretty solid hints now. :D

 **Wondereye -** Thank you! :)

 **Bell -** Thanks! Glad to hear his thoughts make sense!

 **Catspector -** Good to know! This story examines his thoughts so intimately, I would really count it a failure if I was not able to make sense of him! But I think they both are now so close to truth, it'll only take a little push to confess it.

 **Wtiger5 -** That he does, indeed. But it's what makes him interesting to write. Sometimes it just gets in way. But he definitely likes her, and now knows just how much!

 **blasttyrant -** Here it is, then! I hope you liked it. :)

 **Jeraly -** Happy to hear it! :)

 **marttapuustinen -** Thank you! :)


	4. Chapter 4

When we get back inside, I think you look a bit cold, and so I mean to go and fetch some mulled wine to warm you up. But I take no more than five steps when I'm surrounded by some guests, and I don't get a chance to excuse myself until many minutes later. The same happens almost as soon as I return to my search of the wine, and it's almost half an hour before Éowyn finds me still looking for you in the crowd.

Her face is doubtful and she wants to know why you were looking sick when she found you. I'm mortified to hear this. Did I leave you while you were in need? Or was it my bold approaches outside that made you ill? I can't stand the idea.

Éowyn's expression grows softer when I demand to know if you're well. She tells me you're already retired, and that she doesn't think it's anything rest won't mend. My sister reaches to touch my arm.

 _You should talk to her. Tell her how you feel,_ she says to me, confirming my suspicions. Éowyn already knows everything. And if she is suggesting this... well, maybe there's hope indeed.

It's high time I stop ignoring and denying what I feel.

But tonight, things must still wait. The feast will continue for a few hours at least, and there are many who wish to have my time. I focus the best I can, but my thought often returns to you.

When the hall begins to quiet down a little bit, Éowyn comes again, carrying a pitcher of mead. She asks me to sit down with her for a while, which I do gladly. Long we sit side by side, drinking slowly and talking of many things. We recall times gone by and imagine the future before us. Fondly we speak of those who are not with us anymore. Her eyes shine every time she mentions Faramir and an eager note appears in her voice. It's a bittersweet thing, and I would not bear to part with my sister for any lesser man.

It's good to talk with her like this. I feel like we sit down and really speak too rarely these days. To myself, I make a vow: I must make the remaining time count.

Looking at my sister now, so full of life and joy, I wonder if our uncle and our parents are smiling there beyond the veil of the world.

* * *

I sleep later than normally. The night was long and eventful, but my rest is deep and dreamless. It's morning's light peeking through the window that brings me back to the waking world. With a sigh, I turn on my back and stare at the bare stone ceiling of my bedchamber. I think of my talk with Éowyn last night, and I realise how much I want to move on. It feels like I've been walking some kind of a haze for so many months, but now my eyes are open. I don't wish for any more going to bed alone or waking up to this quiet. I'd like to be able to reach to my side, to feel someone there, perhaps still sleeping and stirring to my touch. In my imagination, that someone has her dark hair spread open on her bare shoulders, and her sleepy eyes are clear grey.

After all, two sets of shoulders are stronger than one alone. And though your body may be slighter than mine, your strength comes from inside.

I get up and dress quickly. I need to find you as soon as possible, and now that my mind is made, I feel vigorous and hopeful. Reason tells me you wouldn't have danced with me so if you didn't feel something similar.

At the door, I dismiss my guards: I have no desire to have them hovering nearby while I talk to you. Éothain won't be pleased. He thinks I'm too careless, but on the other hand, I never seem to reach the level of caution that is agreeable to him.

The hallways of the Hornburg are unusually quiet. Most of people are still recovering from last night's revelries, it seems. But some do pass me by, and I stop them to ask about you – if anyone has yet seen you up this morning.

It's Lady Léoma who points me your way. She tells me you took breakfast with her and a few other early birds. There's a knowing smile on her features when she ventures to speak, _So, will you propose to her soon? Many have wondered since last night, when you danced with her. It is said now Éomer Éomundson has found his queen._

I glare at her. It seems other people know my business better than I do. But she just laughs and says you were going outside for a walk. And so I head that way, too, grumbling as I go. I cannot wait any longer.

Brisk winter's air hits my face when I emerge from the doors of the keep. I breathe it deeply as I gaze around, eagerly looking for your figure. Guards and other folk of the Hornburg are moving about, but I can't see you – not until it's already too late.

There's a high-pitched scream. Then I see someone falling, endlessly falling down the stairs leading to the great wall. My heart drops into the bottom of my stomach when I witness a head of dark hair hit the ground.

You lay so still, so quiet. Like a broken little bird on the ground...

There's a flash inside my head, like red fire bursting in distress and horror. I am running before I know it, pushing people from my way. If I could make a sound, it would only be to cry your name.

I drop on my knees next to your body, my hands hovering close to you. But I dare not touch you. How badly are you hurt, and what if I'll make it worse? Or, what if it's only to find your heart is no longer beating? In helpless alarm, I look up to see some explanation to your fall. And there, the very place you must have been standing, is Déorwine. He stands still and his face is deathly pale as he stares down with wide eyes. Wrath explodes inside me, and I want to run up the stairs, grab him and strangle him, bash his head against stone for daring to harm you. In this moment of blind fury I would gladly burn him for your sake.

But I will not do such a thing. You need me more than I need to punish him, the only surviving nephew of Erkenbrand and Léoma.

 _Guards! Seize him!_ My voice booms in the Deep, stronger and surer than I feel right now. And so sentinels rush past us, running up the stairs to get a hold of him. But my own eyes are already back on you, and with trembling fingers I finally search for your pulse. I find it, almost sobbing out loud when I know you are not dead – yet.

Healers come rushing. I'm brushed aside as they quickly examine you, and then carefully lift you on a bier.

I follow close by as you are carried back inside. There's noise and commotion all around me, but I can only see your pale face, and none of the voices around me make any sense.

They don't let me enter your room. Éothain is there, and one of the healers, and they are both talking to me at the same time. _They need some space, let them work in peace, she doesn't need you raging about her like some lunatic._

We argue there, and I try to push past them, but Éothain grabs me by shoulders. Then Éowyn exits the room, saying you're awake. You're awake! I demand to see you, and in that same moment I hear you scream.

It's maddening. My heart races in my breast and blood rushes through my veins like fire. I want to take my sword and fight someone – _something._ But even as the sound of your pain almost sends me to battle rage, I still know there's nothing I can do. I was trained to kill, not to heal.

Éowyn grasps me by wrists and speaks my name forcefully. I look at her, wild with fear and distress.

 _You are not losing her. I promise. She'll be all right,_ Éowyn says to me, and I nearly break down right there.

Restless energy finally leaves me. I turn and press my hands on the wall, nails scratching helplessly, and hit my forehead against cool stone. The choking sensation does not go away. I turn again and fall to sit down next to the door. I rest my head in my hands.

 _On my watch. She got hurt on my watch._ The words tumble out of my mouth, shaky and faint. What will I tell Imrahil? How can I face him now that I've let his beloved only daughter get hurt?

Éowyn sits down next to me and rubs my shoulder. She speaks softly, telling me it's not my fault. Yet I cannot absolve myself. Somehow I feel I could have done something. If I hadn't left you last night...

Either way, if Déorwine pushed you down, I shall have his head and feed it to wolves.

* * *

Time seems to have lost its meaning. I am slumped in the chair next to your bed and I stare at your pale, troubled face. I don't feel any calm, though the healers have said your injuries are not fatal. If only I could take your agony to myself! I would bear it gladly to spare you.

They won't let me question Déorwine. _You're too upset,_ Éothain says to me, and promises he will take care of everything. But when my captain returns later on and tells me he thinks it was an accident, I feel powerless and angry. While I know Éothain wouldn't bring me lies or untruths, I still have this gnawing need to punish, to have some retribution for your pain.

When you wake up, there is a brief moment of relief. Seeing your eyes open, hearing your voice, is like balm. But you are fragile and ill at ease, and all I wish to do is pull you close and hold you safe in my arms until this has passed. I wish to tell you how much I care about you, but such confessions must wait now. Still, my impatience betrays me, and I ask if Déorwine is the one who made you fall. Your eyes grow unfocused and your answer is even more anxious.

I want to kick myself. I try my best to calm you down again. You settle down, looking at me with something so true and vulnerable, and I too feel somehow exposed. There you lay, wan and in pain, and yet you hold such power over me as no one else ever has before.

Do you not see how much I love you?

* * *

Duty calls again. I hate having to pay heed to it right now, for nothing matters to me at the moment as much as your recovery.

I wish to tell you the truth so much that it burns me. However, it's not right to make any revelations while you're not in your full health, and so I keep my silence. Still, I do visit you before I take the road. Perhaps you know already this thing between us, that it must be spoken of soon, but you are content with waiting for my return. Tenderly you press your lips to my cheek, making me yours with a single gentle touch.

Your voice echoes still in my head when I ride out.

* * *

I race back to Edoras like a madman.

Anxiety beats in my head like a steady thrum and I count the hours for when I'll see the walls of my Hall before me. This need reminds me a little bit of times in past, when I was riding to battle and knowing that much depended on my haste. But it's a more hopeful sensation. The end of this road won't have blood or death.

The moment my feet touch the ground before Meduseld, I am moving. Servants are there, and my secretary is trying to say something, and my steward too wants to have a word. But I brush past them, only speaking anything to ask of your whereabouts. And when I do know where to find you, I head there straight.

My heart instantly grows lighter when I see you. You lift your eyes and you smile at the sight of me, so shy and sweet, thawing me all over again. I am glad to notice how much healthier you look than when we parted in the Hornburg. The last worried knots grow loose in my chest.

I know a lord should be more eloquent when speaking to a lady of his feelings – when he asks her to marry him. But in this moment no fine words seem good enough, and I cannot think of a speech that would convey what I feel. After these past few days, I can't hold this back anymore. So, blunt and unadorned as my manner and words are, I just let it all out.

Your shyness makes way to wonder and the light in your eyes burns brighter than ever. And then, even before you speak, before your tears rush out, _I know._

You love me just as I love you.

In the Queen's Solar, I kiss you for the very first time.

* * *

Éowyn doesn't look at all surprised when I speak to her later in the same evening. She smiles, hugs me fiercely, and exclaims, _Finally!_

Turns out, she has long foreseen this. Not just the fact that I am quite in love with you, but also that my feelings are wholly returned by you. When I ask why she didn't say anything, she shrugs and says she thought I should figure it out by myself. As ever, my sister knows me well. I wonder whether she is the only one who guessed, or if others too have seen through me. I know I'm more transparent than I'd like to be.

Éowyn and I sit up late, talking together, basking in this happy moment that belongs just to us two – the last living members of the House of Eorl. But now our House has a future again, and what would otherwise be a bitter parting will be easier to bear.

* * *

Our days together pass all too quickly. But time has such a quality when one is happy, and I'm not sure when I last felt it so deeply, so fully. I spend as much of my time with you as is possible and even in the middle of my everyday duties, I find my thoughts turning to you.

But I also think of the Rider carrying our letters, making his way to Dol Amroth to meet your father. What will Imrahil answer? One burning thought is now replaced with another.

There is now a glimmer in you that I had not seen before. You are less reserved with me and your hand is bolder when it grasps mine. You are smiling and laughing so much, and when I see the lingering relief in your eyes, I know that your fear or rejection was no lesser than mine. Though you are still a bit shy about shows of affection, I can sense the warmth and eagerness underneath.

It occurs to me that even if Imrahil gives his consent, I am going to be pushed to the very edge of my patience while waiting for you. But now you are still here, and I hide each sweet moment deep in my heart.

* * *

I have often dreamt of you, but never as much as I do now.

I think of your hair, of your skin, of your mouth. The way you move, the sound of your voice, your small unconscious gestures... you let me kiss you when people aren't watching, but I wonder if you realise how much I have to check myself while doing it. It's hard, because your answer is usually so eager, and the warm softness of your body pressing close would surely break the self-control of a weaker man. I would be lying if I said I wasn't pleased to notice that you apparently desire me, too.

All the same, I don't want to scare you, or make you think I'm some kind of a brute with just one thing in his mind. But there are moments when you unknowingly tempt me so that my head swims, and I feel like I might go mad with want.

You must know that I want all of you, and intend to give no less in turn. But I am still just a man – a flawed, impatient, hot-blooded man. And you are so young, and perhaps your female relatives haven't even told you what to expect. I have no idea what Gondor's womenfolk truly think of men of the North. I know I must be more patient, more tender with you than any woman before you.

What I did not expect is how much that very thought excites me.

* * *

Éowyn and Faramir's wedding draws near. And the closer it is, the more I feel like there's some weight on my heart. How to say goodbye? I have never quite learnt how to do it. No, Éowyn is not slipping beyond that grey veil where our parents and cousin and uncle have vanished, but I am still very much losing her.

I think you sense this feeling on me, though you don't say much. Sometimes you just look at me and reach to clasp my fingers with your own. It comforts me, and I think of how much I will miss you. There is a bond now, like a thousand invisible threads between you and me, and with every day that passes you become more and more a part of myself.

Imrahil has to say yes. He has to. Otherwise, I don't know what I'll do.

When his answer finally arrives, my first reaction is not quite as hopeful as yours. I'm used to disappointment in my own personal life, so it seems only logical that this thing would go wrong, too. But after I've reread the letter for several times, and thought it over in peace, I realise I must have hope. I need to trust you in this – and trust Imrahil. There's no reason for him to oppose this union, and he has no hidden meaning when he says he wants to speak to us in person. You are his only daughter, so of course he will want to make sure we are truly serious. That is what I would do, had I a daughter.

Maybe one day I will. And once I let that thought enter my head, I will never be rid of a vision of fair-haired, grey-eyed children in mine and your arms.

* * *

Relief washes over me when Imrahil finally gives his answer. For a moment I feel dizzy and I am surprised at the force of my own reaction. I have kept telling myself that he's not going to refuse us, and still his confirmation shakes me so! You are aglow with joy as you jump to hug me, and I only barely notice how unsteady my hands are as I pull you to me.

It's a wondrous moment. I have dreaded and expected this, imagined a hundred outcomes, despaired of all hope and then talked myself into believing again. And now the words have been uttered. Something _turns_ in me. Yes, I will have to wait for you, and life won't always be as golden and easy as it is in this hour. But to be granted the honour of your love and companionship is reason enough to lift my head higher than it has ever been, and to face the years to come more with hope than grim resignation.

I will build, and I will mend this land, and I will love you so well that years will echo with our deeds long after we have put our heads to rest.

* * *

After Éowyn, Aragorn is the second person I tell the good news. His face brightens up at hearing it and he comes to give me a tight hug. Then he pulls away and rests his hands on my shoulders. His smile is beaming and his eyes glitter as though in their own light.

 _I am happy for you, brother. She's quite lovely._

At this I can only grin. Yes, my bride is indeed.

Aragorn calls me his brother – and sometimes, I have done the same for him. No, nobody can replace Théodred. But he doesn't have to be replaced, and Aragorn can be something different. I'm glad if I can be that for him, he who has had so little family in his lifetime.

Suddenly it hits me: I'm not so alone as I thought.

* * *

We three say goodbye.

Éowyn's face is serious as we exchange the final words on the steps of Meduseld. She is still giving me advice on this or that matter, and it almost makes me smile. One might think she was just going away for a few days.

Then she puts her arms around me and hugs me very tight. Her hugs are always crushing, as though she fears things might vanish from her if she doesn't hold them hard enough. But maybe after a few years with Faramir by her side, she will learn to know better.

It is curious, this mixture of emotions that I feel when I let go of her. Some small selfish part is screaming against it, writhing in mortal pain. And yet it drowns under the joy and love I feel for my sister and the wondrous gratefulness that I am the brother of this extraordinary woman. She'll be all right.

And I will be too.

Éowyn goes down the steps, unwilling to prolong the parting. But I am already in the next one, for right then you come to me. For a moment, I am overwhelmed at how much one can _feel._

My sweet, sweet bride. You linger in my arms, soft and trembling, your fingers clutching handfuls of my tunic. I can feel your shallow breathing more than hear it, and it's as if I could smell the tears you refuse to spend. I bury my face in your hair, memorise its fragrance, and do not care who is watching us now. The only thing I can think of is that I won't be seeing you in months and months and months.

But the bond holds tight. I feel it even as I let my arms drop to my sides. I understand: you'll never truly be gone from me now.

I pick up your hands, kiss them both gently, and I speak the words that I have not told you before now: _I love you._

Your voice is soft and sweet and it trembles a little bit when you answer. _I love you, too._

* * *

It is hollow when you and Éowyn have gone. I keep waiting to hear your steps approaching, or feel your hand on mine. I strain my ears to hear your voice. But then I remember you are riding back to Gondor, and I have an entire year to wait.

At least I know I am going to see you before that. For now, I must be content to bide the time.

 _Oh, how I miss you._

* * *

At last your first letter arrives, and I devour your dear words like a starving man, again and again. Your handwriting is thin and elegant on parchment, just as one would expect. Your longing is quieter, subtler than mine, but it is there. I can imagine you sitting before your desk, a faraway look in your eyes, and then dipping your quill in some ink to draw fine lines. It's almost half the pleasure to picture the moment you composed this letter.

And then there are the news. You have seen _mearas_ again, and this knowledge fills me with such joy as is hard to put in words. It feels like a promise. And somehow, for many nights that follow, I feel more peaceful than I have since you left.

* * *

When at last I start my journey to Gondor, it is with a constant battle with wanting to race as hard as we did for the great battle before the walls of Mundburg. For at the end of this journey, _you_ are waiting for me. I want to see you so bad, it's like some sort of a raving madness is trying to take a hold of me. For the sake of my men and the horses, I check this wild urge, and remind myself of friends expecting to see me in the White City.

We must wait a little while more. But as normal I try to act, Aragorn and Arwen see right through me, shaking their heads in gentle amusement, but also understanding. I am much more impatient than they are, these two who waited a lifetime to be together – not that I could understand time like they do.

From your descriptions, I knew that Dol Amroth would be beautiful. And yet it still catches my breath, much in the way that Mundburg once did, this white city of slender towers that the sparkling sea washes under bright sunlight. It's not that your city's beauty is something I would like to study for the rest of my life – it's more the knowledge that you have chosen to leave all this splendour behind _for me._ It occurs to me that I didn't really know before now what your choice means.

What you are giving up for my sake.

But there's no loss on your features when we are reunited. You are radiant when my eyes catch yours, and my heart begins to race in my breast. There you are! And once I spot you, there's nothing else I can see.

You run into my arms, the way I've wanted you to, and I pull you close. Your dress is light silk instead of velvets and wools you used to wear back in Edoras, but I'm too beside myself not to wrinkle your beautiful garments. Not that you seem to be minding, either. You are sweet and aflutter and I feel like we were never even parted. I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the scent of your hair, and something in my very bones just _melts._ Oh, Béma, I've needed this.

Days in Dol Amroth are as swift and sweet as I expected. My throne and its concerns are faraway, for how could I think of such things here in your fair city, walking by your side and listening to your dear voice? For a while, I even forget how soon I must go again.

On the last night of my stay, you ask me to meet you in the garden. So, after I've made up some excuse to leave the party, I make my way there, and saunter the moonlit paths as though I wasn't going to meet my bride there all alone.

And then you pull me between some tall bushes, and we stand under a bright silver beam. You are both happiness and regret as you look at me, thinking of tomorrow just as I am.

 _I wanted to give you this,_ you whisper, and I follow the line of your gaze to the palm of your hand. Readily I offer my hand, and then you gently push the ring – a jewel as blue as the sea crested between silver wings – into my finger.

There under the moon and stars we kiss once more.

* * *

It is the longest winter of my entire life, even with all my duties. I try not to sigh and mope too much, but I know I'm not fooling anybody. Some of my friends seem to find my languishing supremely amusing; Éothain especially is fond of remarking that you and I are exchanging letters so often, it would be prudent to establish permanent messenger posts between Edoras and Dol Amroth. I pay no heed to these japes, though.

It gets better when you start sending your scarves, all smelling like you, and each fresher than the last. I appreciate the gesture very much – I should have known you would pick such detail from my lovesick ramblings. I send my own gifts to you, as well, and perhaps the best of them is the green and gold quilt woven of finest Rohirric wool. _To keep you warm when I cannot._

But the thing from your hands that I like best is the first shirt you send to me. I think I shall remember for the rest of my life that feeling as I unpack the neatly-made bundle and find a shirt of finest linen I've ever touched or seen. Your stitches are careful and precise, and on the collars you have embroidered in silver thread a horse and a swan facing one another. As I press my face against the soft material, I already know that even if you made me a thousand shirts, this one will always be my favourite.

* * *

At long last, our waiting draws close.

I have bathed, braided my hair and am dressed in my very best. Were it up to me, the ceremony would start now. This final final hour is so unnaturally long, it makes my skin crawl.

No wonder they send Aragorn to keep me company. He is ever patient, even as I pace and readjust some minor detail in my array. He smiles fondly, as though he were the father of the anxious bridegroom. I cast an awkward, apologetic grin his way, but he meets it evenly. Béma, I'm lucky to call this man my brother.

 _Remember this day, Éomer. Today promises are fulfilled._

So he says to me. And he would know better than anyone. I smile at him and let out a deep breath. Then Éothain appears at the doorway and speaks a few words with Aragorn.

My brother turns to me and his smile is broader than ever.

 _Are you ready?_

 _Béma, yes._

* * *

There is a hush before the doors of Meduseld open. All are waiting for you now, but no one as much as me. I try to imagine how you will look like, and how I'll feel when I see you at last. It all escapes me. I feel hot and itchy as I stare at the twin doors, listening hard for your arrival. Any moment now.

There is noise inside and then the doors open... there is darkness at first, too dim against the broad daylight. And then a white figure steps outside.

You are entirely dressed in white and silver, but the jewels you carry are all gold, my mother's earrings and necklace, and my ring. Your sleeves are long and wide, almost trailing the ground. And so are your skirts, which whisper noiselessly against stone. And Béma, you have left your wondrous dark hair open, and upon your head you wear a garland of wild flowers of Rohan. You are so beautiful that it burns me, and I want to fall on my knees before you and weep in joy. But all I can do is stare.

 _Flower-garlanded maiden. Lothíriel._

To live this moment, a man would be ready to die.

And the way you smile as you walk to me! I feel giddy with so many emotions, I should surely pass out right here. But your hand in mine reassures me, and I am able to stand still for the ceremony.

Éowyn and Imrahil come. It is the way of our land for the closest relatives to do the actual hand-fasting, and they begin to bind a long ribbon around our joined palms. Round and round again, as Scýne and Éothain speak the blessings of Lord Béma and Lady Læs, and I am only vaguely aware of it as I stare in your bright eyes.

My wife. _My wife._

Knots hold us tight together now. But it's a kind of tightness that is reassuring.

I kiss you for the first time as my queen.

* * *

It is the happiest night of my life. Your hand is never far from mine, and nor would I allow it, except for those instances that others wish to dance with you. Even then, I can hardly keep my eyes from you. Maybe it's just my lovesick eyes, but it's like you're glowing, gathering the very light around us in the shining fabric of your gown and the long free tresses of your hair. I feel like I'm in a dream.

There are a hundred occasions that I wish to ask you to retire, but I remind myself of what this night means, both to you and to me. And I think we are both happier for it. And truth be told, I do love the way you are beaming and taking rulership of all that you see. As it should be. Even if I didn't love you to death, the king in me rises and tells me how well I've chosen my partner.

I _am_ lucky. I've found a wife and a queen.

* * *

I take a deep breath before I enter the royal bedchamber. It is softly lit by candles, the bed is newly made, and covers are pulled slightly back. But I pay only briefest heed to these facts. For I can see you jumping up from your seat. Your hair spills down your shoulders and you are wearing a delightful white garment that gives out more about your figure than you probably know. While these details excite me very much, I also take notice of your wide eyes and the way you fidget your hands.

The last thing I want is you to be frightened of me.

And so I smile and spread my arms in a way that I hope is disarming. I gesture at the table, where a pitcher of mead is waiting. _Thank Béma for small graces._

And there you go. You sit down, and I take seat opposite you where I pour us drinks. I speak to you softly of the events of today and how happy I feel. Gradually you begin to relax on your seat and a smile returns to your features. Your fingers aren't fidgeting anymore.

I reach for your hand.

 _You know that I'd never hurt you?_ I ask you gently as I brush my thumb across your knuckles.

 _I know. I know,_ you respond in a soft little voice as you put aside your mead. And then, timidly at first, you come to me... and you sit in my lap. Carefully you put your arms around my neck as you regard me with wide, wondering eyes.

Oh, Béma. What can I do, except cradle you to me and kiss you?

And then, some time later...

At last.

 _At last._

* * *

It is very late now, and sleep would probably be a good idea, but this is a moment too priceless not to be savoured. I listen to the Hall as it breathes; the sounds of our wedding feast have long since faded away. I smell a bit of smoke in the air from the last candle to burn out. And I feel your warm softness pressed against me, one arm across my chest, your head on my shoulder, and your leg between mine. It is the most perfect thing and in my mind there thrums a steady, slow marvel at the sheer fact of _you._ My wife.

I think of the road that has brought us here, that first glimpse of you back in Mundburg, the slow wonder that took me almost right away, and all the small thoughts that remained with me afterwards... and then your coming to Edoras, and finding myself looking forward to your company, and feeling my anger and regret fade away at the touch of your hand.

It all seems so obvious now. Of course I was going to love you.

You are fast asleep, breathing softly against my neck. The longer I think of how you feel like, the more I want to wake you up again... but it's been a long day, and you've earned your rest. We have all the nights in the world to spend together.

So I turn carefully as not to wake you, wrap my arms around your body, and press my chin against the top of your head. You mutter something in your sleep and I smile as I close my eyes.

Sweet springtime is here at last.

 **THE END.**

* * *

 **A/N:** Here you go, finally! I guess I was holding back this finale a little bit, because I didn't want it to have too much overlap with the main story, but neither I didn't want to make it too long. So I tried to concentrate on what I thought would be the important bits from Éomer's POV.

It was interesting to write this story, as it's fairly different from what I normally do. Like I said at the start, I'm not a big fan of present tense in fictional stories, but it was fun to try it for once.

In case you're wondering who Lady Læs is supposed to be, she's in fact Vána, Oromë's spouse. It's basically an imagination of mine scraped up from some blog posts that Rohirrim also honour her, and these two Valar are represented in Rohirric wedding ceremony by the bride and bridegroom.

There's one more chapter coming for the main story, and after it, I think I may have something new brewing already. But we'll see how that goes.

Thanks a lot to everybody who took time to read and review this story!

* * *

 **sai19 -** Thank you! And you're right, slow burns can be both so harrowing but also so satisfying at the same time! :D

 **Cricklewood16 -** I'm glad to hear it! It's really interesting to look at the situations from his eyes, and I'm glad it brings additional value to the main story, too. :)

 **Wtiger5 -** That's such a delightful contrast to write about him! I think he would oftentimes feel clueless with her, not only because he loves her so much and it bewilders him a good deal, but also because she's not from Rohan. So sometimes he's just worried he's not picking up some important clue about her because of different cultural expectations.

 **EStrunk -** I liked that bit very much, too! I think a lot about what kind of a struggle it must be for him especially in his first couple years as a king. And I also think it's an important thing for him to realise that he does want to move on from his grief.

 **aryaputra -** Thank you! I am very glad to hear my stories manage to bring such a special feeling!

 **Wondereye -** Well, I think the main story rather answered that!

 **Serni -** Thanks! :)

 **Doranwen -** Yes, that was very satisfying bit to write! :)

 **Hobbitpony1 -** Thank you!

 **rossui -** Thank you very much! Flattered to hear you think so highly of this version of him. :) There are such wonderful renditions out there, after all!

 **blasttyrant -** Thanks! It's a very interesting style for me, too, since it's so different from what I normally write. But yeah, that whole "love letter" idea never left me alone when I first thought up this story!

 **Anon -** Glad to hear I've managed it! I didn't want to just repeat everything that goes on in the main story, after all.

 **Jo -** Thanks! :)

 **frank . kilgenschmidt -** Well, one doesn't often get to double the sweet, tormenting anticipation! :D

 **Jeraly -** Thank you! I'm glad the story is working like that! :) First person POV is surprisingly hard, because you need to convey that sense of really seeing to the core of why the character the way they do.


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